Runa took her usual position in front of the Well of Souls. The liquid within glowed a faint, pale blue infused with the lingering mana of the last six harvests. Cyrillus took up his place opposite her own.


    “Ready?” He asked. He crooked his head to the side, making his neck pop loudly.


    “Beyond ready,” Runa said. “I can’t wait for this day to be over.” Seven straight weeks of harvesting had drained her, and this last batch had been nothing but troubles on top of problems.


    “Thank the Gods, this is the last one.” Cyrillus dipped his fingers into the Well.


    Runa grunted her agreement while she prepared herself to harvest the seventh soul. She had drawn the short straw for this batch. Four souls to Cyrillus’s three, and each one had been more exhausting than the last.


    She dipped her own fingers into the warm, viscous liquid that filled the Well and nodded to him to begin. Together they manipulated the mana laden contents of the Well of Souls until it glowed bright blue with potential magic. Then, carefully, she tore a hole in the Veil that separated their world from the Void, and began the hunt.


    Strands of power extended from her fingertips, zig-zagging their way down until they disappeared into the depths of the Well.


    Runa had been harvesting souls for a long time. Longer than any of the other Harvesters. She took her job seriously. Too seriously, some said, but she ignored that kind of talk. There was nothing more important in all of Novalis in her estimation. No Champion ever stood on the winner’s podium without being harvested first, and she had harvested more champions than anyone else.


    She had a knack for choosing the right souls. While all Harvesters had some sense of the worth of a soul, she had a particular prescience about it.


    One of her strands brushed against a soul and entwined it. It felt dull. Grey. No spark. No color. She flung it away.


    Long ago, it had taken more effort to find souls at all. Harvesters cast their strands far and wide, the effort so great one could only manage a single soul a day. Yet, in a way, it had been a simpler task. The souls were few, but they were nearly all strong and worthy.


    Now, souls gathered thick at the Well. It seemed to draw them in. It made it easier to catch a soul, but they were seldom of a quality that Runa would waste her efforts on.


    She snagged a second soul, which met the same quick judgment. Sickly yellow— a coward, a weasel.


    The third looked promising at first. Its pale green seemed bright enough, but underneath there were streaks of black and red. She associated those streaks with cruelty and arrogance. No, a good champion had to be strong and honorable. She flung this one as far as she could. Other Harvesters might take it, seeing only its surface strength. The longer it took to get back to the Well, the better.


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    Runa knew that nobody else could feel the colors of the souls like she did. It was why she was so much better at it than anyone else, but her success hadn’t stopped the other Harvesters for mocking her when she had first mentioned her ability. She never spoke of it to anyone again.


    Sweat broke out on Runa’s brow as the hunt continued. The fourth and fith souls were as dull as the first. The sixth, an interesting mix of muted blue that shifted ever so slightly into lavender here and there. A healer maybe, but she had already harvested a similar soul earlier in the day. Still, she lingered over it, but in the end, she released it


    “So close,” she said.


    Cyrillus sighed with impatience. She ignored him as she often did. He was the newest Harvester and not as conscientious as Runa would have liked in a partner. He made up for it by being more adept than Runa in dealing with the results of their harvest: confused, dripping wet, clueless mortals.


    She took a deep breath and sent more mana into her casting lines. She brushed against several souls without even bothering to take a better look— they were nearly free of any color at all, poor things. She didn’t know why some souls were so faded and she would not harvest one to find out… none of them would. They could all feel it. These souls were not right.


    Then she settled on another likely candidate. It felt bright and fresh, a newer soul. She liked the modern ones. They integrated with the System much more readily. That made everything that came after the Harvest so much easier.


    Cyrillus must have seen the intrigue in her expression.  “A good one?” He asked, eyes shining with anticipation.


    “Maybe.” She didn’t know what to make of the colors. While the soul felt bright, the colors were not actually that vibrant— or stable. They shifted as she probed. First green, then blue, then a burst of multi-color swirls. Very pretty, she had to admit, but what did it mean? She hesitated.


    “Just take it, Runa.”


    She shook her head slightly, still undecided. She hated when things didn’t fit into the neat patterns she was used to.


    “Nobody expects the seventh soul on the seventh day to be perfect.”


    “There is no such thing as a perfect soul,” she snapped. But there were such things as bad souls and good souls, and Runa expected all her harvests to be good. Better than good.


    Only, she wasn’t sure she had it in her to try again. Her hand literally shook from the effort of holding on to this one. She gave it one more look, but it still refused to settle down into something she understood.


    She didn’t get a sense of wrongness from it like those faded souls had, and if she harvested this one then she would know what these changing colors meant. It’s how she learned it all in the first place, nobody had handed her a guide. Blue souls equal this, and green souls that.


    “Fine.” She spoke through gritted teeth. “But, if this one sucks, it’s your fault.”


    Cyrillus rolled his eyes at her. She pretended not to notice and pulled the soul toward the surface. The mana rich fluid formed and congealed around the soul, creating substance where none had been before. Cell by cell, organ by organ, a woman emerged from the depths.


    Runa released her casting lines and the mana, freed from her control, wrapped itself around the not quite alive body of a new Adventurer to complete her transformation from an untethered soul to a living mortal.